The cold front covering New England was so intense that the conditions outside Karen Lincoln's nineteen-twenties farmhouse were Siberian-like and according to the local radio station's weather forecast, it was unlikely to get any warmer over the next five days. It had snowed heavily for three days, leaving a blanket of snow three feet deep and isolating her from the outside world.
She liked living on the outskirts of town, but there were drawbacks and snow, when coupled with a three hundred foot driveway, was one of them. On the first day of the storm, she'd made her way into town and back, but during the evening the wind had strengthened to gale force and had driven the snow into drifts of up to six feet. On the second day, not needing to go out, she had settled in to wait out the weather.
An English teacher, she'd taught in the same high school since starting work and had reached the point where she'd had her fill of teaching. She'd found it fun once, but in recent years had become disillusioned with the attitude of the school board, the pupils and their parents and although she would never have admitted it, at fifty-five she was merely passing the time until she could take early retirement.
Her disenchantment with teaching was mirrored by a similar disenchantment with the rest of her life. Divorced and single, her parents dead, her two adult children living a continent away on the west coast, she'd gradually come to believe life offered only more of the same; more sitting at home, more reading and more time spent watching a dwindling number of watchable television programs. What was worse, she was doing it on her own.
She'd been married once, but nine years previously, she'd returned home one lunch time to pick up some forgotten end-of-year reports and caught her husband in their living room, fucking Melissa, their neighbour, and the neighbour's friend. That it was the neighbour hadn't been a complete surprise. The first time she and David had been invited next door for a swim, she had watched with envy and growing anger as her husband had spent the afternoon with his eyes glued to the neighbour's bikini clad body.
When they'd returned home, rather than confronting him, she had gone into the bathroom, stripped naked, looked in the mirror and cried. She was fat, her tits and bum drooped, there were wrinkles everywhere and she looked old. How could she possibly compete with a neighbour who was young, attractive and shapely; her body toned by visits to the gym, her perfect tits a testament to silicone and the plastic surgeon's art?
If finding her husband fucking the neighbour wasn't a complete surprise, what had been a surprise was finding him engaged in a threesome, coupled doggy fashion with Melissa who, in turn, was lying between the legs of an equally young and shapely female, her head bobbing up and down as she played with her recumbent partner's clit. Throughout the twenty-three years they'd been married, David had never shown the slightest inclination to mount her from behind and yet she had caught him rutting like an animal and with a woman he'd known for a less than twenty-three weeks.
Initially shocked into immobility, her first thought, once she had recovered, had been to rush into the room and attack him, but for some reason, which she had never been able to reconcile, she'd continued to stand in the hallway and watch; transfixed by the scene being acted out before her.
She'd realised she ought to be angry; but she'd found the ménage erotic, a sexual combination she'd only imagined, but which, in reality, was far more exciting than she had thought possible. With the exception of the friend, who was still wearing the top half of a yellow bikini, the participants were naked, the women's bikinis scattered across the floor, the red and yellow scraps of material a vivid contrast to the beige of the carpet. As she'd watched, rather than wanting to stop them, she'd found herself wishing she was one of the participants and it was her, rather than Melissa, who was on her knees and impaled on David's cock.
Within seconds she had become aroused; her cunt moist and her nipples erect. She'd reached inside her blouse, put her hand inside her bra and rubbed her breast and teased the nipples, her usual reaction when she was excited. Her right hand had just begun to inch down her body, heading towards her cunt, when the recumbent member of the ménage had looked up, noticed her standing outside the door and screamed, breaking the spell and returning her to the present.
The next few seconds were a blur of action. The two women had grabbed their discarded bikinis and headed home; brushing past her with their faces averted; neither able to look her in the eye. David had remained, naked and shamefaced; standing by the bed; his glistening, but rapidly deflating cock evidence of his infidelity.
No longer spellbound by the ménage, she had turned on him, shouting and screaming; alternating between asking how he could treat her this way and ordering him to get out. He'd tried to plead with her; offering excuses; 'it was a mistake', 'it was the first time', and platitudes; 'I love you', 'I won't do it again', but given all she'd had to put up with in the previous few months, she'd found his protestations both pathetic and unbelievable. In response, she'd thrown a vase at him, which had missed his head by the proverbial whisker before crashing against the wall. Realising he risked being the target for other missiles and further excuses were likely to be futile, he'd grabbed his underwear and followed the two women out of the back door.
The period immediately following her husband's departure was to prove a trial, both financially and emotionally. The loss of David's paycheque and her divorce lawyer's seemingly never ending legal bills had eaten into her finances such that by the time she'd managed to sell the house and had received her divorce decree; her already meagre savings had been reduced to a pittance. Over time, moving into a less expensive house and a bequest from her mother's estate had resolved her financial problems, but the same could not be said for her emotional issues.
If she had hoped to gain a measure of revenge by throwing her husband out, she was to be severely disappointed as he'd merely moved next door and within days, had formed a ménage-a-trois with Melissa and Lisa, the third party in the threesome. It was a development which was to provide a daily, unwanted reminder of his infidelity and what she had found even more trying, had made her an object of pity among her friends.
The first summer had been difficult. After sharing a house for twenty-three years, living alone had proved a challenge and one which had been exacerbated by the presence of the ménage. The house next door had a swimming pool and whenever the sun shone, the lovers had taken every opportunity to disport themselves, clearly for her benefit, in varying degrees of nakedness. The women had paraded in the tiniest of bikinis which just managed to cover what a male friend had referred to as 'the good bits', while the normally conservative David had forsaken the scruffy, knee-length shorts he'd worn for swimming during their marriage and had adopted the type of swimming trunks normally found only on the beaches of southern Europe.
She had attempted to dismiss, as adolescent behaviour, the incessant displays of affection which had accompanied the displays of naked flesh, but she hadn't always found it possible. Even if their actions fell short of actual sex, she'd found the sight of her neighbours kissing and fondling erotic. On several occasions, including two, booze fuelled evenings when the women had dispensed with their bikinis, she'd gone inside and pleasured herself to images inspired by the lovers; many of which had seen her playing Melisa's original role in the threesome.
If her orgasms had been satisfying, and in most instances they had, the aftermath had not. She'd been both angry at herself and ashamed; angry David had left and condemned her to a life of onanistic sex and ashamed she found images based on her husband's infidelity, sexually stimulating.
It wasn't just the sexual nature of the displays which she'd found difficult; the women were attractive and she'd found it impossible to ignore the difference between her five foot seven and one hundred and seventy-five pound body and the almost anorexic bodies of her husband's lovers. She'd understood comparing her body with those of the neighbours was pointless as they were twenty years younger than her and the laws of nature dictated there would be a marked difference between her body and theirs and a difference which wouldn't be to her advantage. However logical the argument, she'd found herself being intimidated by their almost perfect bodies to the extent she'd given up sunbathing in her back garden and had come to accept she was fat, unattractive and undesirable to men.
With the exception of Christmas, which she'd spent alone for the first time in her life, her daughter having left for the west coast immediately following her college graduation in the spring, the winter had been easier. The pool had been closed, the displays of naked flesh and affection had ceased and winter clothing meant the differences in body shape had not been so readily apparent.
If the winter had proved easier, the following the summer had proved at least as difficult as the first. David had opened the pool in time for the Memorial Day weekend and while the Saturday had been cool, the Sunday had been warm and by early afternoon the backyard was full of guests, including some who had been mutual friends of David and her during their marriage. She had decided to ignore it and had called Ann, a friend and colleague from school and arranged to go shopping, but had changed her plans when she'd seen two long-time friends park their car across the road and go next door.
Both Scott and Deb Warner had sided with David after the break-up, Deb having even gone so far as to spread malicious gossip about her relationship with Ann, and since it was a pool party, she decided it might be worth staying and taking a peek - if only to laugh at Deb.
Deb was fat, definitely fatter than her and she was curious to see what she was going to be wearing. Uncharitably, she imagined her in a flower-print bikini, bat-wings flapping, cellulite rippling the back of her thighs and rolls of belly fat overhanging the bikini bottom and hiding it completely from sight.
After calling Ann and cancelling their shopping trip, she made her way upstairs to a rear bedroom, the window of which offered an unrestricted view of the pool area, and she knew, if she stood far enough from the window, she would be almost invisible to the people next door. When she looked there was nobody in the pool, but the yard was full, most of the women sitting on chairs while the men were standing around either the barbecue or the makeshift bar.
She located Deb almost immediately; she wasn't wearing a bikini, but a blue, one-piece swimsuit with a skirt and contrary to her imagination, there didn't appear to be any rolls of fat hanging anywhere. To her left and standing with their backs to her, were David's two women, both in what appeared to be new and even smaller bikinis and talking to an older woman. As she watched, Lisa, the woman she had identified to her female friends as 'the one whose pussy was being licked', turned to greet another guest and in so doing offered her profile; a profile, which it was immediately apparent, was not in keeping with her usual svelte outline.
Lisa had put on weight and her first reaction had been to feel smug, but a closer look revealed the only place it had accumulated was around her belly and rather than getting fat, she was obviously pregnant and from the looks of it, had been for at least five or six months. How she'd managed to miss it she didn't know, although when she'd thought about it later, she realised she hadn't seen much of Lisa since February and when she had, she'd been wearing either winter or loose fitting clothing.
The knowledge was a bombshell. She had come to accept she was no longer married to David and rather than her, he was getting his jollies from the floozies from next door – whenever she'd described them she'd been tempted to call them the whores from next door, but had settled for floozies, a word she'd borrowed from her mother. That one of them would become pregnant was something she had never contemplated, but from what she could see, it appeared at least one of them was expecting David's bastard.
She found the notion ridiculous. David was forty-eight with two children, the youngest of whom was twenty-two. He'd stopped trying to impregnate her immediately after their second child was born and had never again expressed any interest in having another. At the time, it was a decision with which she'd been happy to agree, since she was only twenty-four and had given birth to two children in seventeen months.
At his insistence, she had taken the pill, which she'd done until she was almost forty, after which she'd used an IUD in order to comply with his directive to the effect that he didn't want another child and it was up to her to insure they didn't have one. His apparent change of heart was incomprehensible.
She was angry, but most of all she was jealous. It was almost twelve months since he'd left, but despite her acceptance of the situation and her determination to get over him, from time to time, she still found herself feeling jealous of the two women. She knew she was being irrational and that she couldn't compete. The two women were in their late twenties and much younger than her, far more attractive, probably better in bed and in getting two for the price of one; David was fulfilling a male fantasy. Being jealous was a waste of time and energy, but she couldn't entirely rid herself of the feelings.
Lisa's pregnancy only served to re-enforce those feelings, although they were not based on him having impregnated Lisa rather than her, but because Lisa could have a child and she couldn't. She knew it didn't make sense; she didn't want any more children, but the onset of menopause following David's departure – she'd blamed it on the stress - and the accompanying knowledge she couldn't have more children, for some reason, had been upsetting. Lisa's pregnancy had only aggravated the upset.
Over the following eight years, the anger and pain had gradually disappeared. She'd experienced a measure of revenge a year later, when Melissa had left David in favour of a thirty year old corporate lawyer who, apparently, was a better catch than a forty-nine year old, regional marketing manager for a sporting goods company. It had been a surprise when Lisa had not only stayed with David, but had married and had another child by him. The last time she had seen them together, the svelte figure she'd envied had disappeared and she'd taken delight in noting Lisa's figure looked remarkably similar to the figure she'd had at the same age.
When she looked back on her marriage, she realised she'd been cheated, not only by her husband's infidelity, but also in her sex life. She had been able to accept the former, but had never been able to forgive him for the way his attitude to sex had supressed her sexuality. Sex with David had not been satisfying and if she had donned her teacher's hat and assessed his performance as a lover, she would have given him, at best, an 'F' coupled with a comment to the effect that 'David's performance has been disappointing. He really must try harder'.
He had taken her virginity three months after they had met at college. He'd been persuasive, gradually increasing the pressure on her until she'd felt compelled to say yes. She'd been apprehensive, his cock looked big and much too big for her cunt, but she had convinced herself he loved her and when they came to make love for the first time, he would be loving and tender.
The reality had been painful and nothing like she'd imagined. He'd been clumsy and inexperienced, groping her and trying to ram his cock inside her with little concern for her well-being. She'd been tight, it had taken him a long time to pierce her hymen and once he had, he'd cum almost immediately, filling her cunt with cum and totally unconcerned he might impregnate her.
His performance had improved slightly over the course of their married life, but he'd never been an ardent, attentive or adventurous lover and after the children were born, the first, a son, four months after their marriage and five months after she'd graduated, they had quickly settled into a routine of once-a-week sex, usually on a Friday night, and for some reason, always in the missionary position.
David had been her first serious boyfriend and when they'd met her knowledge of sex had been rudimentary, mainly because she'd had no one to teach her. Her mother, who had been in their middle fifties when she was a teenager, had been too embarrassed to discuss sex with her and an unholy combination of Roman Catholics and Evangelicals had ensured sex education had not been taught in her school. As a result, when she'd first made love to David, other than a brief, almost asexual, lesbian affair with her college room-mate, she'd had no theoretical or practical knowledge of sex and wasn't aware an orgasm during sex wasn't just a male prerogative, but that women were also entitled to one. It was only after starting work and having been counselled by Ann, she had become aware a very occasional orgasm was neither acceptable nor the norm.
At Ann's suggestion she'd acquired a vibrator, the latest version of which was a pink rabbit she called 'her friend Peter'. The first time she'd used one, she'd felt both uneasy and guilty and had waited until her husband and children were out for the day before she took it out from its hiding place in her underwear drawer.
Although Ann had provided some basic instructions; 'It's like using your fingers – only better. I usually stick it in my pussy to get it wet and then switch between my pussy and my clit – but it's a matter of personal preference and you'll soon discover what you like best' - she had found herself reluctant to use it.
The rabbit was intimidating, even more intimidating than her first sighting of David's erect cock. She hadn't expected David's cock to be so large, but if anything, the rabbit looked to be thicker and longer and what was more intimidating, appeared to require a degree in nuclear physics to operate it. She'd read the instruction manual and when she had finished was still totally confused on how to invoke the various vibratory and rotatory motions. She'd almost called Ann and asked her to come over and show her how to use it, but had persisted and after ten minutes of pressing all six buttons controlling rotation and the four controlling vibration had found a combination which was acceptable.
Her first efforts were tentative; just brushing the head over her clit and then inching the head into her cunt, but the longer she played with herself, the better it started to feel and contrary to her original concerns, it didn't feel wrong, but exciting. By the end of the afternoon, an afternoon in which she had cum eight times and had almost exhausted the batteries, she had come to realise she was orgasmic and using the rabbit guaranteed she would reach her climax. In contrast, sex with David certainly hadn't come with the same guarantee. It was as if he was the only person allowed to get any pleasure from their sex life and any enjoyment she garnered was only a bi-product of their coupling.
In an effort to improve the enjoyment she got from their love-making, she'd attempted to introduce her friend, but when she'd produced it from under her pillow, he'd yelled at her.
"What the hell makes you think we need something like that? Turn it off. Now! We don't need it."
He had been wrong; she did need it, but astounded by the degree of hostility he'd shown, she'd complied. It was as if her rabbit was a threat, but whatever his reasons, she'd resented him for forcing her to pleasure herself in secret.
It was not long after Melissa had moved in that David's attitude towards her had deteriorated. He had always been remote, rarely kissing and hugging her, but after Melisa's arrival it was as if she didn't exist; either in or out of bed. In bed, what little interest he'd had in her body had evaporated to the extent that in the first two months following the neighbour's appearance on the scene, he'd made no effort to make love to her.
For an intelligent woman, her inability to notice the association between Melissa's arrival and David's complete lack of interest in her body was inexplicable. Rather than attach blame to him, she'd blamed herself; deciding his lack of interest was attributable to her sexual inexperience and to the weight she'd put on over the years.
In an effort to rekindle his interest; she'd joined Weight Watchers, but with only limited success, and had sought advice from Ann; on whose recommendation she'd clandestinely bought an instructional sex video and the 'Guide To Getting It On'. When they next met to discuss the purchases, Ann had handed her a well-thumbed copy of the 'Story of O' and as she'd done so, she'd laughed and added a paean in its praise.
"It may give you a few ideas and even if it doesn't, I guarantee it'll make you horny. It certainly makes me moist."
Her efforts had met with little success. Over the following two months she'd managed to persuade him to make love to her twice, but it had been hard work and the results had been disappointing. Whatever she'd done, she had found it difficult to get his interest and on the two occasions when she'd managed to induce him to make love; he'd resorted to form, mounting her in the missionary position, following it with his usual five minutes of mechanistic thrusting, a grunt and the immediate removal of his cock.
She hadn't cum on either occasion, but had persisted with her efforts, hoping his lack of interest was merely a temporary phase and his interest would increase if she could find a way to sexually stimulate him; either by her actions or by losing weight and making herself more attractive. When she'd finally realised whatever she did it wasn't going to work, in desperation she had turned once again to Ann, to whom her friend's second request didn't come as a surprise.
Ann didn't like David; whenever she was in his company she got the feeling he wasn't interested in anyone but himself. Furthermore, he treated her friend abominably; ignoring her and even worse, taking her to task or ridiculing her contributions to the conversation, even when they were with company. She wasn't a marriage counsellor and hadn't been asked to comment, but if she had, she would have told Karen there was very little chance of her husband changing and she should either get rid of him or if she didn't want to divorce him, then she ought to look elsewhere for sexual satisfaction.
She had, however, been asked for suggestions and after listing a number of options, which, based on what she knew of David, she was sure had little chance of success, she asked Karen if she had ever considered anal sex.
"I know it turns them on – well it certainly does the trick for my husband. There's nothing Richard likes better than fucking me in the ass and you never know; you may actually like it."
The knowledge Ann and her husband engaged in anal sex was mildly surprising. Ann had always been prepared to talk openly about sex, including providing titillating snippets about her sex life, but there hadn't been even the slightest hint she and her husband engaged in what, up to that point, she had considered an abnormal sexual practice.
"I love anal sex, particularly if I'm playing with my vibrator at the same time, but I won't kid you, when he's putting it in for the first time it can be uncomfortable and painful. It does get easier over time and for a long-term ass fuckee like me it's not a problem.
"Lube is the key. I made sure I read an instruction manual before I let Richard stick it in my ass and when he did, I made sure he lathered his cock and my ass with lube; but he still has to be careful. I would make sure you've got his cock in your hand before he starts and only let him feed it in very slowly - and I mean verrrry slowly."
It had taken some time, following their initial discussion, for her to overcome her fear of the unknown and it was only Ann's candour and advice which had finally helped her overcome her reluctance to try it. Even after she had made her decision, she had still found the prospect daunting and had procrastinated, waiting for almost a month before she had summoned sufficient confidence to broach the subject with her husband.
The occasion she had chosen was following a party in their home to celebrate David's forty-seventh birthday. She hadn't planned it in advance, but he'd appeared relaxed and in a good mood from the outset and halfway through the evening, she'd realised it was likely to be the best opportunity she was ever going to get. By the time the party was winding down she was slightly inebriated and under the influence of the alcohol, determined to proceed with his seduction
She'd waited until after the guests had left and he had gone to bed, before she'd followed him upstairs. Undressing in the bathroom, she'd donned the high heels, garter belt and stockings she had hidden in a bathroom drawer earlier in the evening.
Naked and nervous, she'd paused at the bathroom door, taken a deep breath, opened the door, entered the bedroom and humming 'The Stripper', had strutted across the floor to the bed in the best vamp-like strut she could muster. It had been an amateur performance, but he'd watched her progress with what she took to be apparent interest and when she reached the bed and pulled back the bedclothes it appeared, from the semi-erect state of his cock, she'd been right.
Climbing into bed, for one of the few times in their marriage she'd taken the initiative; kissing him, rubbing her tits and down his body, brushing her cunt against his thigh, stroking his cock and licking his body from his nipples to his belly button. In spite of her efforts, he had shown little inclination to reciprocate her advances other than, with an obvious lack of enthusiasm, returning her kisses, but what she had found more disconcerting; his cock had shown no sign of becoming fully erect. She'd realised she was losing him and needed to do something and since she was having no success with her current approach, she'd tentatively suggested he may like to try something different.
"I've been thinking about our lovemaking. After all this time, it must be getting boring for you. I've been wondering - would you like to try something different?"
"What are you suggesting?"
She'd hesitated, before asking timorously,
"I was wondering whether you might like to take me from the rear. You know; make love to my bum."
There had been no immediate reply. She hadn't been sure whether it was from shock or whether he was taking the time to consider the idea. His answer, when it came, had been filled with anger.
"What do you fucking think I am? Do you think I'm a fucking queer? Fucking in the ass is for queers. I don't know how you could possibly think I'd be interested. You're disgusting."
His response had surprised and upset her. It had been embarrassing suggesting anal sex to him; he wasn't aware of the courage she'd needed in order to make the offer to let him bugger her and his angry reply was not what she'd expected. Frightened and upset, she'd fled their bedroom and had spent the night in the guest room, lying in bed and crying for hours before finally falling to sleep just before dawn. When he'd appeared at breakfast the next morning, he had ignored her, refusing to look at her or respond to any of her attempts at conversation
That day, during the lunch break, she'd told Ann of his response and had received sympathy and some unsolicited advice.
"Don't worry, some men are opposed to anal sex; they tend to associate it with gays and can't believe it has any place in a straight relationship. David is clearly one of them."
"He must be. Ann, you couldn't believe how mad he got. I was frightened he was going to hit me."
"But he didn't?"
"No, he didn't."
"Okay. Assuming you still want to keep on trying to save your marriage – and for the life of me I can't imagine why you would – there's one last suggestion I can offer. If it fails, then you've got no chance of saving it."
"In my experience, and that's based mainly on Richard's taste in porno videos, there's one thing which is almost guaranteed to get a man's attention and that's a three-way."
So Richard and she watched porno videos together. Was there to be no limit to the surprises about Ann's sex life to which she was to be privy?
"You know, sex with three parties, although, as he's a man, I would propose you suggest MFF." Karen looked puzzled. "Male, female, female. Two women and one man. Have you ever considered it?"
She had given it some passing thought when she'd read the relevant chapter in 'The Guide to Getting it On', but had rejected it, in part because she couldn't envision sharing David with another man or woman and also because of a porno video she'd once seen.
The video, which had been one of three loaned to her by a female friend, who'd removed them from a stash she'd uncovered in her daughter's bedroom, had starred two men and a woman and had featured a range of sexual practices, including double penetration.
As a movie it had been a failure; the action had been stilted, the tattooed actors and the silicone filled actress couldn't act and in spite of their feigned enthusiasm, had appeared to be going through the motions. There had been a couple of scenes which had induced a slight tingling in her cunt, the most exciting of which had been a scene showing cum leaking simultaneously out of the woman's bum and cunt and blending as it dripped onto the bedclothes, but, on balance, she hadn't found it erotic.
What had spoiled it for her had been a scene at the end of the film in which the two men had ejaculated, in turn, onto the actress's face. While sucking their cocks and wanking them, the actress had feigned delight at the thought of being coated in cum, but when the men had ejaculated onto her face, in volumes which suggested the scene had been filmed at a different time to the DP scene, she had blinked and squirmed. She and David had never tried anything like it and she couldn't imagine how a woman could possibly get sexual pleasure from it.
Even if she had been prepared to consider the notion, Ann's suggestion of a MFF three-way was probably moot. How would she find a woman prepared to be the third party, and if she could, what chance would there be of retaining her interest given David's abysmal performance in bed?
"Then maybe you should. I've never met a man who wasn't turned on by the thought of three-way sex, particularly if it's MFF. Why do you think MFF threesomes and lesbian videos are predominantly watched by men? It's because two women having it off turns them on, although I don't really understand why.
"It's not that I'm opposed to it. Although, I must admit I've never tried it. I've no objection, in principal, to licking another woman's clit or having her lick mine, but I can't imagine many women being turned on by men fucking and sucking each other."
As she spoke about having no objection to having sex with a woman, Ann raised her eyebrows and leered at her. Karen blushed, was her friend propositioning her, was she inviting her to lick her cunt? She didn't know and the answer was probably not, but surprisingly, the thought of three-way sex which included another woman didn't sound distasteful.
"I can't, either."
"And what about women doing the same thing?"
"I'm not sure."
She was saying she wasn't sure, but as she'd had sex more than once with her college roommate, even if it was true neither had brought the other to a climax with her tongue, her answer was a lie. But the question under discussion wasn't one of queer sex, but a three-way and she was more interested in resolving her feelings with respect to the latter rather than discussing the merits of the former.
Three-way MFF sex required another woman and she had no idea how to recruit a third party. She'd heard, in their search for sexual partners, people used the internet and in particular, the newly launched and rapidly expanding Craig's List, but she couldn't envision recruiting someone she didn't know. If she was going to have sex with another woman it had to be someone she knew; she couldn't imagine undressing and performing sexual acts in front of a stranger; but whom did she know who may be interested?
She looked at Ann. If there was someone she trusted unreservedly, it was her. Furthermore, she and Ann had often undressed together when changing at the local pool and although they hadn't flaunted their bodies, neither had been uncomfortable. It was possible she would feel comfortable with Ann, but would Ann be comfortable with her and David? The only way to find out was to ask and she found the prospect far less daunting than when she was considering asking David if he wanted to take her in the bum.
"Ann, have you ever had a three-way?"
Ann smiled; she knew what the next question was to be.
"Are you trying to recruit me?"
"Of course not."
The question may not have been a direct request, but the underlying reason for the question was apparent.
"Well, in the event that you are being a little economical with the truth, the answers are 'No' and 'Maybe'. No, I haven't and maybe I would consider it – but it's unlikely I'd want to do it with David – someone else; then maybe."
Karen looked at her for several seconds before she replied, during which she imagined what it would be like making love to Ann and the yet to be determined, third party.
"So where do we go from here?"
Before Ann could reply, the entry of the Vice-Principal put an end to the conversation. She hadn't had the chance to mention it again to Ann before she had walked in on the lovers. Finding her husband enjoying three-way sex was irony she could have done without.
In the eight years following her divorce, she'd had three lovers. Her first affair had been with Robert, a former neighbour who had come to her house to help her erect an outside light and had started the year after her divorce. The job had taken longer than had been anticipated and it had been almost dark when he'd finished. Karen had offered him a drink and five beers and three quarters of a bottle of wine later they had ended up in bed.
Sex with Robert had been a revelation. He'd been far better in bed and more adventurous than David; paying attention to her needs, introducing her to positions other than the missionary position, but more particularly, had introduced her to the pleasures of oral sex. David had never attempted to go down on her; it had been as though he had a phobia about her cunt; treating it as unclean, refusing any form of sexual contact during her period and refusing, at any time, to put his mouth anywhere remotely in the vicinity.
She had to admit the fault wasn't just on his side; she hadn't been keen on blowing him, the thought of cum in her mouth had revolted her, but she had tried, only abandoning her task when she found it impossible to bring him to a climax. In contrast, Robert was an enthusiastic cunt-licker and he'd started every coupling with an oral attack on her cunt, licking and teasing her clit and probing her cunt with his tongue. She had responded to his enthusiasm and while not totally overcoming her revulsion to the thought of cum in her mouth, had blown him to within seconds of cumming before finishing the job with her hand.
Despite the quality of the sex, her relationship with Robert hadn't been easy. He was married and they had been forced to meet secretly, either in slightly seedy, out-of-town motels or, occasionally, at her house. It had almost come as a relief when he had abruptly ended their relationship; announcing he had qualms about cheating on his wife and thought it would be better if they did not see each other again.
Her second affair followed almost immediately after the end of her affair with Robert. Simon had been another married man, eight years younger than her and a colleague at her school. She'd fucked him at first because she'd needed to be fucked. Robert had shown her sex could be enjoyable and while Peter, her rabbit, was good at making her cum, he had his limitations – he couldn't kiss her, couldn't spray her cunt with his cum, but most of all he couldn't hold her in his arms and tell her the lies lovers tell to each other after they have made love. Simon could and did.
Over the two years they had been lovers, she had come to believe she might have been in love with him. He was attentive, good in bed and thoughtful, everything David had not been, and she had even harboured faint hopes he might leave his wife for her. Once again she had been rejected, although, on this occasion, not quite as brutally as by her former lover.
He'd been offered a position, as a Vice-Principal, on the other side of the state and despite logic telling her continuing their affair would have been almost impossible, she had come to believe he had used the move as an excuse to end their relationship. Unlike the break-up with Robert, which she'd taken in her stride, the end of the affair with Simon had left her heartbroken and she had fallen into her third relationship almost without thinking.
Her next lover was a woman. Other than her mild experimentation with her first-year university roommate; a relationship which had ended during the second semester when she'd met David, she'd never been sexually attracted to women. Her relationship with Rachel, a gym teacher at her school, had started immediately after Simon had told her of his planned move and on her part at least, had been accidental.
It had started at a pool party at Rachel's house where she had been celebrating the end of the school year with several of her colleagues. By midnight the other guests had left, leaving Rachel and her sitting by the pool and still in their swimming costumes. She had started to leave, but had been offered a night-cap and as she'd had nothing to do the next day, had stayed. Three-quarters of a bottle of wine later, she'd been almost drunk and feeling the need to share the ¬¬pain she was experiencing trying to cope with the loss of her lover.
She'd started telling her story without much emotion, merely recounting, in chronological order, brief details of the affair, but the longer she talked, the more emotional she'd become. She might have loved Simon, but now she was mad at him and if she'd had her way she would have strung him up by the balls, but as she'd talked, the anger had quickly faded to be replaced by an overwhelming feeling of despair and she'd started to cry. In between sobs, she'd poured out the intimate details of their relationship and the despair she was feeling.¬¬¬¬¬
Rachel had listened, soaking in the details, nodding and offering the odd encouraging word, but her attention was concentrated on Karen's body and in particular her tits, whose nipples had been stiffened by the cooling night air and were clearly visible through the fabric of her swimsuit. She could almost feel and see them; hard and upright; nestled between her lips, her tongue gently teasing them, but to achieve her goal she needed some way of persuading Karen to give her access to them. It wasn't going to be easy; as far as she knew, Karen was straight, but the alcohol and her resentment of her former lover might offer the opportunity.
Karen's seduction was far easier than Rachel could have imagined and started innocently enough, with a friendly, supportive hand on Karen's hand, followed by a soothing arm around her shoulder. When she'd met no resistance, she'd applied gentle pressure, pulling Karen to her until her head was resting on the top of her left tit. The final act had seen her lift Karen's chin and kiss her. Although partly extemporaneous - Rachel had no plan other than to wait for an opening - the seduction had been well-orchestrated and so effective Karen had been oblivious.
They became lovers that night and Karen had been forced to admit to herself that she'd enjoyed it. The kiss had been followed by another and then by an exploratory hand on her tits, the fingers seeking and finding the turgid nipples. She had watched, almost without emotion, as Rachel had pulled the straps of her one-piece costume down over her shoulders, exposing her tits.
She had never considered her tits to be beautiful, but Rachel's compliment pleased her.
Without another word, Rachel caressed her tits, gently cupping them in her hands before bending down and kissing, licking and sucking on the nipples. If she had been unsure of her response to Rachel's advances, the tenderness with which her would-be lover had played with her tits had served to resolve her uncertainty.
"We should go inside."
Karen nodded and followed her through the back door and via the kitchen, into the living room. The room was dark, but there was sufficient light from the street lamp her to follow Rachel's progress as she struck a match and lit the two candles sitting on the glass coffee table. As the light penetrated the darkness, she watched as Rachel faced her, smiled, blew her a kiss, kicked off her sandals and removed her bikini top. Smiling coquettishly, and holding the bikini top at the end of her extended middle finger, she walked towards her and asked,
"Why don't you take off the bottom?"
It had been a long time since she'd helped undress a woman, but she had no qualms in reaching out, undoing the left-hand tie and watching it slip down Rachel's legs.
"Thanks. Just a moment. I'm going to get us a drink."
She watched as Rachel dropped the bikini top at her feet and with the flickering candle light playing over her slim body, moved over to the buffet where she opened a bottle of wine and poured two glasses. Her first thoughts were not about sex, but about the marked difference between Rachel's body and hers. Rachel was slim; even slimmer than her ex-husband's lovers. In the last four years, if she included Rachel, she had seen four completely naked women and with the exception of her friend Ann, they had all possessed slim, taut and hairless bodies; a complete contrast to hers. She knew she should undress, but hesitated, concerned what Rachel would think when she saw her naked.
Returning, Rachel handed her a glass and held up her own glass in a toast.
She wasn't sure they were an 'us', but followed Rachel's lead.
Rachel took a drink, smiled again and placed her half-full glass on the coffee table. Still smiling, she asked,
"Aren't you going to get undressed?"
She knew this was her last opportunity to say no, but simply nodded, placed her glass on the same coffee-table and withdrew the arm which was wrapped across her breast and keeping the top of her costume in place. Before she could pull the costume down, Rachel had seized hold of the bodice.
Rachel made removing the costume a production; sliding it tantalisingly slowly down Karen's body and over her hips, pausing from time to time to kiss and lick her body or to fondle and kiss her tits. When she reached her pubic hair she paused, looked up at Karen and smiled.
"Hirsute, I see."
She was, but she wasn't going to offer an apology or explanation.
When she had finished removing the costume, Rachel stepped back three paces and told her,
Rachel inspected her body, her eyes moving up and down, almost exclusively within a zone between the top of her tits and her cunt and only briefly looking up at her face. Apparently satisfied, Rachel approached her. When she reached where Karen was standing, she stopped, reached for her tits and fondled them.
The first and last time she had heard the phrase was thirty-five years ago and it had been spoken by David whom, at the time, was sitting in the front seat of his 1967 Chevy and watching as she tentatively undid her white bra. He'd been right, she'd had great tits; she'd been younger and slimmer then and her tits, while smaller, had been firmer, but tipped with the same prominent nipples as they had today. To hear the same compliment from a woman was a surprise and the only response which came to mind was 'thank you'.
Smiling once more, Rachel took her hand and led her to a leather sofa, sat her down, sat next to her and kissed her. Whereas the kiss she had received from Rachel by the pool had not been unwelcome; the second kiss provoked an unexpected and immediate response from her body. She had accepted they would make love, but had still not overcome a nagging doubt it was wrong and she had allowed herself to be manoeuvered into doing something she didn't want to do. The tingling in her cunt the kiss had engendered, removed all those doubts. Within seconds, she had allowed herself to be manoeuvered into a position where she was lying prone, her right leg draped over the edge of the sofa, with Rachel kneeling on the floor, her head between her legs and her lips and tongue gently playing with and teasing her clit.
It didn't take long for her to cum, a combination of the wine, Rachel's tenderness and expertise with her mouth bringing her to her climax far more rapidly than she had ever experienced with a man. When she came, she'd grabbed her lover's head, ground it into her cunt and cried; but they had been tears of joy and relief, rather than despair.
It hadn't taken much for Rachel to persuade her to stay the night; a night during which Rachel had introduced her to lesbian sex. She knew in theory what lesbians did, but until that first night in Rachel's bed, her practical knowledge of lesbian sexuality had been limited to mutual masturbation and tentatively licking her college roommate's cunt, an endeavour she had abandoned as soon as her roommate had started to become excited. Rachel had been more insistent, demanding she lick her clit until she came and once she'd recovered from her climax, demanding she repeat it. By the end of the night she had been exhausted, but sexually content.
The next day, she'd questioned what she'd done; she wasn't a lesbian and should have rejected Rachel's advances, but she'd felt lost since losing Simon and needed someone who would show her love and compassion. She'd expected and wanted a man, but the only offer she'd had was from a female colleague and in spite of her misgivings, she had enjoyed being fucked by Rachel.
They had been lovers for almost two years and although she'd felt guilty throughout the relationship, there was something about the way Rachel made love to her which she found difficult to forego. Her relationships with Robert and Simon had brought her to realise she enjoyed sex with men and in particular, how much she loved the feeling as they plundered her cunt with their cocks, but while both men had excited her every time they'd fucked her, she found the tenderness shown by Rachel to be exciting in a different way. A confirmed lesbian, who hadn't fucked a man since her first year in college, Rachel knew exactly what pleased a woman and her mouth was an instrument of pleasure second to none, teasing and exciting her clit, driving her to orgasms so intense she was sometimes unable to bear the sensations Rachel's tongue induced.
Ultimately it wasn't anything in their sex life which had ended their affair, but Rachel's attitude to her. Lesbianism had a political as well as sexual agenda for Rachel, whereas, to her, it was just another variety of sex. Increasingly Rachel had put pressure on her to come out, admit to being a lesbian and espouse the feminist cause. When Rachel had insisted they both attend the Portland gay pride parade and had harangued her when she had refused, Karen had ended the relationship. The end, although conducted in private, had turned out to be almost as acrimonious as her divorce, but she had persisted and when it was over, had been comfortable with her decision.
The third day of the storm was the twenty-fourth of December and that evening she was scheduled to go for a drink, in a down-town bar, with some of her friends and colleagues from her school. She wanted to go; two days of her own company, with the same scheduled for Christmas Day and Boxing Day, was too much, but she wouldn't be able to make it unless the driveway was ploughed. Determined to meet her friends, she called the local ploughing company, only to be told they were backed up and the best they could manage was to have somebody at her house at somewhere around four-thirty p.m. It should be enough; an hour at the most to plough the driveway and at worst, another half an hour to drive to the bar.
She spent the rest of the afternoon getting ready. When she went for a drink with her friends she usually wore a sweater and chinos, but tonight was Christmas Eve and she was old enough to believe Christmas was a special occasion. She took a bath, a departure from her usual routine of showering, lying in the soapy water until it was luke-warm and thinking about sex.
It had been four years since she'd been fucked by anyone, either man or woman, and to use the vernacular, she really needed some – she smiled to herself when she thought of the slightly old-fashioned phrase - and then smiled again when she decided what she really needed was a hard cock, preferably slick with pre-cum, driving into her more than willing cunt. Her musings excited her and although she hadn't intended, she played with herself, caressing and tweaking her nipples and rubbing her clit with the rough-textured facecloth until, with a shudder which caused a minor tsunami in the bathwater, she came.
When she had finished cumming, she lay in the bath, soaping her tits, lightly stroking her clit and wallowing in the feelings her climax had engendered. It was the cooling of the water which finally forced her out and as she dried herself, she looked at herself in the mirror. Since her divorce, her lovers, both male and female, had restored much of her confidence in her body, reassuring her, both by their words and actions, that it was still desirable. She understood it wasn't hard like Rachel's or her husband's whores; but soft, the body of a fifty-five year old and yet it possessed redeeming features. Her tits might be edging towards pendulous, but she knew they attracted men and in particular, they were attracted by her nipples. Long and thick, whenever they were cold or excited they were clearly visible through even the thickest of tops and she knew, from their reactions, they excited men; even her ex-husband had played with and suckled them.
She played with a tit, pushing it up so it was resting on her palm and at right angles to her chest and decided, tonight, she was going to give the men a thrill and she knew precisely how she was going to do it. She would wear her flimsiest and sheerest blouse and with it her new bra, the one which, while sheer enough for her nipples and areolas to be clearly visible through the lacy, almost transparent fabric, offered enough support to conquer – almost - the effects of gravity. If that didn't attract their attention, she would become a nun.
When she had finished putting on her bra, knickers and blouse, she stood, looked into the mirror again, undid the second button on her blouse; exposing the top of her bra and doubling the amount of cleavage on show, and decided she looked good - even if it was her own evaluation. For a moment, inspired by her recent adventure in the bath, she harboured hopes of attracting a man and perhaps, if she was lucky, a hard cock to end her over-long period of abstinence. Before she could expand on her fantasy, her thoughts were interrupted by the melodic chime of the front door-bell; the sound returning her to the present and her predicament.
Covering the blouse and underwear with an old, matronly housecoat, she went to the front door and opened it to find a youngish man on the doorstep, muffled to the eyebrows, and behind him, parked some thirty or so yards up her driveway, a black pick-up truck complete with snowplough.
"Karen Lincoln?" She nodded. "Good evening, ma'am, I'm Chris Marsh from Maine Towing. I'm sorry I'm late, but we've been inundated with calls. It seems everyone is going out tonight."
"That's all right; you're here now. I don't know if they told you, but I need to be out of here by six to six-thirty at the latest. If it's a problem for you, just clear the space in front of the garage and a path down the driveway wide enough for me to get my car out."
"Yes, ma'am. I'll get on to it right away, but before I do, may I have a drink of water?"
"You may." Ever the English teacher, she was amazed a snowplough operator knew the difference between 'can' and 'may'; most of her friends, including some from school, used the terms interchangeably and she was often tempted to correct them. After stamping his feet on the doormat and depositing a small pile of snow in her hallway, the young man took off his boots, revealing grey woollen socks with pink feet. She laughed and realising what she'd done, put her hand to her mouth.
"It's all right; my sister knitted them as a joke and sent them to me last Christmas. I suppose I should have expected your response, but you're the first person, other than me and my sister, who has seen them."
Well, she thought, he's probably not queer and obviously not married or even living with anyone - male or female. Given the circumstances, it was an odd thought and when she had finished, she'd asked herself; but why would I care?
"Do you want coffee instead? You must be frozen."
"Thank you, ma'am, but water will do."
He followed her into the kitchen where she filled a glass with water from the tap. While he drank, she looked at him more closely. When she'd seen him at the door he'd looked young, a closer look, in the brighter light of the kitchen, indicated he was older than she had thought; somewhere in his mid-thirties, but he was tall, good looking and seemingly well-mannered.
When he had finished the water, he thanked her and went outside, leaving her standing at the door and watching him walk slowly through the deep snow to his truck; his feet seeking, with little success, to retrace his footsteps. He got into the cab and as he did, she closed the door, went into the living room and stood by the window. It was nearly dark, but she could just make out his silhouette as he sat in the cab.
She watched, waiting for the tell-tale smoke from the tail-pipe which would indicate the engine had started. She waited for two to three minutes, but there was no smoke and as far as she could tell, no sound of the engine firing. Apparently unable to start the truck, he opened the cab door and wrench in his hand, a made his way to the front of the truck, where he opened the hood and paused for a few seconds before attacking the engine with the wrench. After two whacks, he returned to the cab, tried the engine again and based the absence of smoke from the exhaust, with no success.
For a quarter of an hour Karen watched as he alternated between using the wrench to attack an unspecified part of the engine - she later discovered it was the starter motor - and lying down under the engine and fiddling with something. The result didn't vary; after each attempt at repair he returned to the cab and tried the key in a futile effort to start the engine. Apparently beaten, he removed the keys from the ignition and headed back to the house, Karen watched him make his way from the truck and before he could ring the door-bell, had opened the front door and let him in.
"It's no good; the truck won't start. It spluttered twice on the way here and once in your driveway before it finally stalled where it is now. I thought it might be a problem with the gasoline being frozen, but whether or not it was the original problem, right now I'm fairly sure the starter's jammed and there's no way I'm going to be able to start it."
"What are you going to do?"
"Have a hot drink and warm up, if I may. It's freezing out there."
"You may have both, young man."
Once more she found herself surprised and for some reason, pleased, at his use of the word 'may'. The first time might have been an accident, but his repeated used of the word and in context, led her to believe there something about him which would bear further investigation. She watched and waited as he removed his jacket and boots, once again exposing the pink-footed socks.
"Come into the kitchen."
They moved into the kitchen; Karen busying herself making coffee while Chris sat at the kitchen table, trying to get warm and considering his options. It was unlikely he would be able to get his truck repaired before the morning and the only solution appeared to be to walk into town. The prospect was daunting: it was freezing cold, the snow was at least three feet deep and it was almost five miles to his apartment. The only alternative which presented itself was to ask her if he could sleep on her couch, but as she was a single woman living on her own in an isolated location, he thought her approval unlikely.
He nodded and waited until she found the sugar bowl. She watched as he added cream and two spoonsful of sugar into his coffee; she drank it black and unsweetened and couldn't understand how people could add cream, let alone sugar.
They talked for a few minutes and drank their coffee; he told her about the road conditions in and around town, while she outlined her plans for the evening. When he'd finished, he asked to use the telephone and called his office. The call was brief and unproductive.
"The office wasn't too optimistic; the mechanic is out fixing a plough on the other side of town which, from the sounds of it, is going to take some time. At best, they expect him be finished in about a couple of hours, but they've warned me they don't know if he will be able to get through as there's been a crash on the highway involving half-a-dozen cars and two tractor-trailers and according to the boss, it's unlikely to be cleared before midnight."
It wasn't the answer she'd wanted; she had to be in town by seven-thirty; eight at the latest.
"Isn't there something else you can do?"
"I can try the AAA, but I don't hold out much hope. In this kind of weather the wait is usually two to three hours and since the road is blocked, they'll have to come from Dexter."
The answer from the AAA was worse than he had anticipated. The best they could offer was four to five hours; 'all being well and 'probably not until the morning'. He relayed the news to her and was rewarded with a frown.
"I guess that puts an end to my night out and I was really looking forward to a drink with my friends."
"I'm sorry to spoil your evening, the truck is fairly old, but it's usually reliable. If you give me a few more minutes to warm through, I'll walk back into town and try and pick up another starter."
It was a ridiculous suggestion, the snow was at least three feet deep, the wind was still blowing at gale force levels and creating almost white-out conditions and it was four miles to the edge of town.
"Don't be silly. I'm reconciled to the fact I'm not going to make it into town and I don't feel like being the person responsible for you being found frozen to death alongside the highway. If you have to be in town for some other reason, then go, although I don't advise it; but don't do it just for me."
He hadn't any reason to go. He lived alone; he'd left his wife four years into their marriage when one of his friends had told him he'd seen her coming out of a hotel with her boss; they'd had no children and most of his family lived in England. As usual, Christmas was going to be spent in his apartment and on his own, eating a micro-waved frozen turkey dinner, drinking five or six beers and making a couple of Christmas morning 'Merry Christmas' telephone calls to England.
"I've nothing to go for, but I'll have to leave sometime and it's probably better if I leave now rather than later."
She looked at him closely; he was well mannered, he didn't look like a serial rapist or an axe murderer; his office knew he was at her house – and his English was good.
"If that's the case, why don't you stay here until somebody gets through to us? If doesn't matter if it takes all night, I've got a couple of spare bedrooms and enough food and drink to feed and water the five thousand."
It was an offer out of the blue, but, given he didn't relish the prospect of a five mile walk in the snow, acceptable.
"Are you sure?"
"Young man, I wouldn't make the offer it I wasn't sure. Hang your parka on the hook by the door and come into the living room and have a drink."
The living room was warm, heated by an open wood fire and decorated for Christmas; with Christmas cards on the mantle-piece and in one corner, a tree covered in assorted ornaments and fairy lights. There was an old-fashioned record player in another corner and she went over, took a record out of a sleeve, put it on and waited until she heard the first strains of a concert of carols by the choir of St. Paul's Cathedral.
"Isn't that the choir of St. Paul's Cathedral? When I was a child, our family always used to listen to them on Christmas Eve."
She was surprised he recognised them; it wasn't what she would have expected from a thirty-odd year old snowplough driver. Suddenly occurred to her, there was something odd about his accent she hadn't quite been able to pinpoint. She had been certain it wasn't from anywhere in New England, but had been reluctant to ask. Now she understood.
"You're from England."
He smiled and nodded.
"I am, but I've been in the States on and off since I was seventeen. I came with my parents and sister – my dad's a petroleum engineer and he got a job based in Houston. I lived there for two years before my parents separated. When my mother and sister went back to England I stayed with my father, but left after a couple of months."
"You didn't like Houston?"
"I couldn't stand my father's girlfriend. It was she who caused my parents to split-up and I wasn't too happy when she moved in within a month of my mother leaving. She was fairy young, probably only nine or ten years older than me, attractive, but dumb and although I don't like the word, a slut. It was clear my father was thinking with the brain between his legs when he latched on to her.
"One night, when my father was out of town, she came into my bedroom and propositioned me. She'd made suggestive comments from time to time prior to this episode, but this time there was definitely no room for mis-interpretation. She was drunk, stark naked and remarkably persistent. All I can say is I somehow managed to escape with my virtue intact. I left the next morning and went back to England."
"When did you come back to the States?"
"About five years later."
"Why did you come back?"
"After having lived in Texas, I found I was really missing deep fried okra – okay, just kidding – actually I got a job in New York with a branch of a European engineering company."
An engineer turned snowplough operator, she realised she'd fallen into the trap of assuming a snowplough operator was unlikely to have been educated beyond high-school.
"Go on, what?"
"Tell me how you went from being an engineer to a snowplough operator."
"It's a long story."
"I'm not going anywhere."
"Okay. I'll try to keep it short."
The first five years of his story were what she would have expected of a man of his age and she had to wait until he recounted his years in the States to glean some insight into his personality. On his return to England he'd gone to live with his mother and sister before going to the University of Liverpool where he'd studied Engineering – apparently only when it hadn't interfered with his social life. On graduation, he'd joined a large European engineering company and when the opportunity to work in New York had arisen, had applied for and been given the job.
"Did you like it?"
"I did at first, but after a while it became monotonous. The only reason I stayed was the money. I met my wife the second week after I landed in New York and we got married a year later. In short order, we had done all the usual, what used to be called yuppie, things; bought a house we couldn't afford, a couple of fancy imported European cars, been on exotic holidays and all that took money - lots of money."
"Why did you leave?"
"I got divorced about four years after I married and after I did, I realised I didn't want the job or need the money. I left the engineering firm and got a job as a manager in a friend's hardware store."
"So, how did you end up in Maine?"
"I followed my prick."
"You did what?"
"I followed my prick. After my divorce, I lived with a woman for almost two years and when she got a job here in Maine, I followed her. I knew I didn't love her, but she was easy to live with, good in bed and the hardware store was becoming a drag. It didn't last, she wanted something I wasn't prepared to give her; namely, a wedding ring, and so we split up about nine months after we moved. I've been here ever since."
"And do you like it in Maine?"
"How long have you lived in this area?"
"Almost six years."
The answer was a surprise. She'd guessed he was in his mid-thirties, he certainly looked it, but based on his potted biography, he was either thirty-nine or forty and fifteen not twenty years younger than her. It was still fifteen years, but the five years reduction in the age gap made her feel more comfortable; he had almost become one of her generation.
"And why did you become a snowplough operator?"
"Now that's a long and convoluted story."
She realised she'd pried enough and decided the rest of his story could come at a later date – if there was to be a later date.
"Okay. Enough said. What do you miss about England?"
He laughed; once people realised he came from England, almost everybody he'd met had asked him the same question.
"The pubs, good beer, my mother and sister, football and cricket - although not necessarily in that order."
"Talking of drink, can I offer you one?"
"If I have anything other than pop, you're stuck with me for the night. My contract with the ploughing company doesn't allow me to have any alcohol in my system when I'm working."
It wasn't a displeasing option. She'd been looking forward to going into town, but the prospect of having this young man to herself for the evening and given the state of the roads and weather, maybe for all of Christmas Day, had become more appealing than a struggle through the snow and a drink with her friends.
"Beer, wine? I think I might even have some scotch somewhere."
"I'll have whatever you're having."
She took a bottle from a wine-rack on top of the buffet and in the manner of a sommelier, showed it to him.
"It's a red; a Californian Shiraz."
A beer man, who usually drank imported English beer, the last time he'd drunk wine was when he was living in New York and he couldn't tell the difference between a Californian Shiraz and an Outer-Mongolian Baby Duck, but he nodded, jumped up and offered to open the bottle. She smiled to herself; it was apparent, from the blank look on his face when she had shown him the bottle, he knew little about wine, but if he wanted to play the gentleman, she wouldn't stop him.
They took their drinks and went to sit in old leather armchairs, one on each side of the fireplace; where they talked, enjoyed the wine and the warmth thrown out by the fire. Finishing her wine, Karen got up and excused herself; she'd been sitting in her housecoat and while comfortable, it was clearly not appropriate attire for entertaining a gentleman guest on Christmas Eve.
In her bedroom, she sat and took stock of the situation. They were two, fancy-free individuals who, other than keep each other company, had nothing to do on a Christmas Eve. At the least, they could have something to eat and drink; at the best, they could do the same and end up in bed.
The thought of sex with her guest brought about a myriad of physiological changes which she hadn't experienced for a long time. Her body started to tremble, her heart rate increased and what was most telling, her nipples hardened and her cunt started to become moist. I must be stupid, she thought, to believe a man as young as Chris would be interested in me. Nevertheless, when she returned to the living room she was still wearing the silk blouse, but had removed the housecoat, put on make-up and added a knee-length, A-line wool skirt which disguised her hips and emphasised her feminine shape.
He was impressed, without make-up and swaddled in her house-coat, he'd paid little attention to her looks, but without the house-coat; wearing make-up and with the sheer, silk blouse emphasising her tits and providing an almost unrestricted view of her nipples, she was no longer a slightly frumpy, middle-aged woman. She was attractive and obviously a woman who, in the words of his now dead grandmother, 'washed up well'. He smiled at her and was rewarded with a smile in return.
"Am I allowed to tell you that you look great?"
"You most certainly are. In fact, there are no restrictions on compliments."
"Then you look beautiful."
"Why thank you, young man, this old woman is most gratified – even if you are just being gallant."
He looked at her closely, she must be in her fifties, but she had an attractive face, which was dotted with freckles, with just a few lines around her mouth and in the corner of her eyes, short, almost copper coloured hair and a body which, while not sylph-like, was clearly feminine. His wife had been slim; almost boy-like and had spent hours in the gym ensuring her body-fat content didn't exceed fifteen per cent. He hadn't minded her working out, but in bed, particularly when taking her doggy fashion, had found her almost boy-like frame, mildly disconcerting.
"Not at all. You're not old and you do look great."
"I'm old enough to be your mother."
"Then my father, whoever he was, would have been risking statutory rape charges."
She laughed; the young man was certainly a smooth operator. Still, she didn't mind; it had been a long time since she'd been complimented on her looks and she was enjoying it.
"Pour me another drink will you, Chris? I'm going into the kitchen to see what I've got in the 'fridge. I'm sure you're hungry."
He poured the drink and followed her in, holding both her glass and his while she poked around in the freezer and the 'fridge.
"If you want something quickly, it'll have to be a chicken Kiev or a burger."
He didn't like garlic; he couldn't stand the smell or the lingering taste and was amazed how people who would be horrified if they thought they had body odour, were content to breath garlic over unsuspecting bystanders.
"A burger would be great."
It took her fifteen minutes to prepare a salad and cook the burger, by the end of which they had both finished their wine and he had laid the kitchen table. They sat at the table, ate, drank the remainder of the bottle of wine and talked. He told her more about his life in England and New York and his marriage and she told him about her job, her ex-husband and her children. By the time they had finished their meal, both knew more about the intimate details of the other's private life than anyone other than their closest friends.
When they returned to the living room, they were greeted by a fire which needed tending. While he added logs, which he took from a brass scuttle located on the hearth, she opened a second bottle of wine and replenished both of their glasses. They sat and talked; sipping the wine and becoming increasingly mellow and increasingly aware of their companion's physical presence.
It was an innocent action which broke the ice. Leaning down to pick up a log and add it to the fire, she'd put her glass down on the hearth and as she did, her blouse had gaped open, exposing the top of her tits. It was the seminal moment in their relationship. Even when she had been swaddled in her shapeless housecoat, he had realised her tits were larger than average, but the creamy white expanse, visible as she bent forward, was clearly larger than he had imagined. His first reaction was a slight intake of breath, his second a rush of blood to his cock.
When they both looked up, it was almost a comedy of errors; he smiled almost shamefacedly and averted his eyes from hers, but in doing so, returned his gaze to her cleavage; she smiled back and seeing where he was looking, covered her cleavage with her arm. He smiled again, almost a smile of apology; she smiled back, almost a smile of approval.
"Like what you see?"
She wasn't usually so forthright, but the wine and the circumstances had reduced her inhibitions.
"I do. I do."
She smiled again and moved over to sit on the floor at his feet, ensuring her cleavage and the top of her bra were clearly visible. She put her hands on his knees, rested her cheek on her hands and looked into the fire. It was Christmas Eve and his presence was a present she had not envisioned. He reached down and stroked her hair; she closed her eyes and relaxed, wondering where they would go from here.
Unsure of her response, but increasingly excited by her proximity and his view of her tits, he reached down, lifted her face and kissed her, gently at first, but when she responded, far more intently. The kiss seemed to last forever; almost innocent at first, as he became aroused, he pushed his tongue into her mouth and used it to fence with hers. Karen smiled to herself; the last time anyone had French-kissed her was in high school and now a young man – toy boy might be more appropriate – was French-kissing her. When she finally broke their bond, she let out a 'phew' and said,
"It's really warm in here. I'm going to change."
He watched as she got up and left the room. It was the second time she had gone to change in just over an hour and he hoped she was intending to swap her blouse and bra for an easily removed top or, even better, she would return, in the manner of a film-star from the black and while film era, clad only in a long, clinging, white silk robe.
While she changed, he waited expectantly, his cock filling the front of his trousers, his heart beating rapidly; if she had smiled at the thought of French kissing, he smiled at the rate his heart was beating. It was almost like the first time he'd made love and although he was usually secure in the knowledge he was a more than competent lover, he hoped, should they end up in bed, his performance would be better than his first fumblings in the back seat of his father's car in the entrance to a farmer's field somewhere in rural Lincolnshire.
When she reached her bedroom, Karen sat at the dressing table and looked at herself in the mirror. The lines around her eyes and mouth were clearly visible and using both hands, she pulled her skin taut until they disappeared. When she saw the results, she stopped immediately; the lines may have disappeared, but she looked like a younger Jocelyn Wildenstein. If he's interested in me, he's going to have to accept me as I am, she thought, although it doesn't mean I can't try to improve the odds.
While they had been sitting and talking, she had been plotting his seduction. She was certain he wanted to fuck her, but she wasn't going to leave anything to chance. Removing her clothes, but resisting the temptation to look at herself in the mirror, she opened the bottom drawer of the dresser and took out her pièce-de-resistance – a red, waist length, half-cup, open-bra bustier and matching garter belt. She and Ann had bought the same outfit in a sex-shop in New York City and although she'd never worn hers, other than the day she'd bought it, it was obviously erotic and according to Ann, had worked wonders for her marriage - 'he fucked the ass off me' were her exact words when describing the first time she'd worn it. Now she needed it to work a similar magic for her.
Still with her back to the mirror, she put on the bustier and followed with the garter belt and a pair of black nylons complete with seams, before turning and looking at her reflection. She smiled, the bustier looked good, its colour providing a pleasing contrast to her naturally pale skin, the bra enhancing the already ample proportions of her tits and pointing her exposed and still erect nipples directly forward. She stroked the top of her tits, tweaked the nipples and shuddered as she felt a tingling in her cunt. I may be fifty-odd, she thought, but if this doesn't turn him on, I've got no chance of seducing him.
Taking her eyes from her tits, she looked down at the garter belt and below it her pubic hair. She wasn't self-conscious about it – if she had been, she would have shaved it off – but it wasn't the norm and she wondered whether it would it look better, sexier, more erotic and perhaps less forward, if she put on a pair of knickers? It probably didn't matter; if the bustier worked, it wouldn't be long before they would be around her ankles, but a pair of knickers might complete the outfit.
She went back to the drawer and picked out a pair of matching red silk knickers, bought at the same time as the bustier, and put them on. Flimsy and so small they almost qualified as a thong, she knew they were a little inappropriate for a woman of her girth, but they looked sexy. Finished with her undergarments, she refreshed her lipstick and donned a pair of four inch high-heels, in an almost matching red, and a dark-blue silk kimono; the latter a present from her lesbian lover.
When she returned to the living room, her progress across the floor was watched intently by Chris. He had hoped to see her tits jiggling as she walked; providing evidence she had removed her bra, but was disappointed when it appeared what she was wearing was at least as restricting as the items she'd been wearing before she'd gone to change. She stopped at the buffet and asked,
"Want another drink?"
"I've still got a drop left in my glass." Seeing the look of disappointment in her eyes, he added, "But you can bring the bottle."
She returned to the fire, the bottle in her hand, and resumed her position at his feet. The kimono was wrapped around her body and tied tightly at the waist and when he looked down, he was disappointed to find, even if he leant forward, the amount of cleavage on show was considerably less than he had been able to see down her blouse.
"Feel more comfortable?"
She realised he wanted to know what she'd done with her clothes and was pleased by his obvious interest in her attire.
"Yes I do. Do you like my kimono? It's from Japan."
He did; covered in ferocious, long-tailed dragons; their bodies stretching, snake-like, around the garment; it appeared to be silk and expensive, but it was what was under the kimono he was anxious to determine.
He leant down; kissed the top of her head and stroked her hair and was rewarded by a low 'mmmm' and the subtle movement of her body against his knee. He stroked her hair and trailed the back of his hand down her cheek and was rewarded with another 'mmmm' and a less subtle movement of her right tit as it brushed against his thigh. He could feel her tit, but it was difficult to determine what she was she wearing. He smiled to himself; they were adults, both had been married and they were both acting like teenagers, but whether she was ready or not, he was convinced it wouldn't be long before they were doing very adult things to each other
She blushed; but given what she had been planning, she shouldn't have. For the first time in her life, she had decided she was not prepared to wait for a would-be lover to make the first move. She had considered adopting an aggressive approach and asking whether he would like to 'fuck her' or even the less direct 'take her to bed', but had rejected both as she was not confident enough to face rejection. In the end, she had chosen to convey her message in a way which would indicate her willingness to engage in sex, but allow her an out if he took exception to her advances. Brushing her tits against his legs rather than a spoken offer had provided her with that out.
His reply was enough evidence for her to decide he was interested and without waiting for any further confirmation, she reached down, pulled at the obi and let the kimono open, exposing the bustier and her tits. He paused for a moment, looking at them and excited by what he saw; while she looked up at his face, trying to interpret what he was thinking.
She smiled; it was an expression used by her age group, not his.
"I've never seen anything like it - or them."
"It's a bustier. It's the first time I've worn it. Do you like it?
"I do. Why don't you stand up and let me see what it looks like."
She stood up immediately; his reaction all she could have hoped for. He looked for a moment; she looked fabulous. Who would have thought the slightly frumpy matron would undress so well?
She pirouetted until she was facing away from him and wiggled her bum.
"Mmm. Nice ass."
Did he really mean it or was he just being nice? It didn't matter; he was saying all the right things. She turned to face him and watched as he stood up and started to remove his shirt. It was as if they had agreed, almost by osmosis, to having sex. Neither had said anything, but it was clear to both they had agreed on consummating their relationship – however brief.
"Let me help."
If she wanted to help, he had no objection and he stood and waited as she knelt down and undid the waistband of his trousers. She could see his cock was at full mast and wanted to see it. At first, she was all fingers and thumbs, but with his help, it took just a few seconds to remove his clothes, leaving him standing in his underwear; a pair of blue and white Calvin Klein bikini briefs. She was surprised, she had expected boxers, her two male lovers and David had worn boxers, but what was more surprising and pleasing was the size of his cock, clearly rampant with most of the head poking over the top of the waistband. Before she pulled them down, she licked her lips with an involuntarily movement of her tongue; it had only been a slight movement, but he'd noticed.
He had a beautiful, slightly tanned body, with tight, athletic muscles and much more masculine than any of her former male lovers. Briefly, she wondered if he was thinking about her and if he was, was he comparing her body with the bodies of his female contemporaries? In their thirties, these women would not be in the first flush of youth, but their bodies would still not have surrendered completely to gravity. She was at least fifteen years older than him and she knew, even allowing for her age, her body was by no means perfect, but in spite of its imperfections, he appeared to like it.
She pulled down his briefs and looked at his cock, if his body was perfect, so was his cock. Uncircumcised – she didn't like them cut as they seemed unfinished somehow – and now she could see it all. Big and lightly coated in pre-cum, she could almost feel it sliding between the lips of her cunt.
He leant down, kissed her and stroked her bum with his left hand. She liked it and liked it even more when he moved backwards slightly, stroked the top of her tits and played with her nipples.
"Nice. Really nice."
It was a game two could play and she wanted to participate. She reached down and stroked his cock.
"Nice. Really nice...... and big."
He laughed, reached into the cup of the bustier and as if weighing it, held one of her tits in the palm of his hand. It was both heavy and big and couldn't be contained totally within his palm.
"Before you ask, they're thirty-six double D or E; depending on the bra."
"I wasn't wondering about their size, merely enjoying holding them."
It sounded like a mild rebuke and she accepted she deserved it.
He kissed her again and while they were kissing, inserted his hand into the front of her knickers and was mildly shocked to feel pubic hair. So far, he had concentrated his attention on her tits and bum and had no inkling she would be unshaven. His wife had been fastidious in ensuring she removed every follicle of hair and not just from her pubic region, but from all of her body. His other lovers had not been as determined as his wife, but the most pubic hair he had seen since he returned to the States had been his last girl-friend's sparse, well-trimmed, three inch long and two inch wide landing strip.
He looked down to where his hand was holding open the waistband to her knickers. Pulling back the waistband even further, he looked at her pubic hair. Luxuriant, spreading across her belly to her upper thighs, it was copper coloured, the same colour as the hair on her head, but whereas the latter contained the faintest hint of grey, the former was unmarred by the signs of age. As far as he could tell, it had not been groomed, but for some reason, rather than being turned-off, it excited him. She'd noticed his hesitation when he'd inserted his hand and asked,
"You don't like pubic hair? I know a lot of women shave. I guess I'm old fashioned."
"Not at all. I like it."
He knew shaved cunts were the norm among younger women in North America, but couldn't understand why. He'd grown up in in the eighties and early nineties in a small town in the east of England and it wasn't until he emigrated to the States he'd seen a shaved cunt. Not that he'd had the opportunity to conduct a significant sample, as the only women's cunts he'd seen had been those of his sister, all three of his girl-friends and a couple of accidental sighting of his mother's and they had all possessed pubic hair. The first bald cunt he'd seen had been that of his father's girlfriend and given the circumstances, he'd paid little attention to it. His wife had been the second and when he'd watched her take off her knickers for the first time, he'd almost laughed.
"I don't really understand why women think they have to shave their cunts – or under their arms for that matter. It makes them look like children."
Re-assured, she waited as he played with her pubic hair, running his fingers through and stroking it as if it was something new to him. Satisfied, he licked a finger and teased her clit, waiting until his manipulations had resulted in it becoming engorged before inserting his index finger into her cunt. She was wet and given the absence of an objection to his probing, obviously willing.
Taking her hand, he led her back to one of the chairs by the fire and without speaking, pulled her knickers down until they reached her ankles.
"Pick your foot up." No please or thank you, but she obeyed. "And now the other." Again no please or thank you; just an order.
"Stand there; I want to look at you."
It was the second time in less than five minutes he had ordered her to pose for him, but now she was partially naked and exposed. For almost a minute he looked at her; shifting his head slightly as his gaze shifted from her tits to her cunt and after motioning her to turn round, her bum. From time to time, he smiled and issued what seemed to be approving 'mmms' and when it appeared he had seen enough, spoke,
"Not bad. Not bad at all. Sit down in the chair."
She sat and he followed, sitting on his knees on the floor in front of her, his eyes at tit level. He licked his lips and smiled before stretching out his hand and parting the lips of her cunt. She squirmed; his approach was a little more direct than she had expected.
"I'm going to lick your cunt and when I've finished with you, you're going to suck my cock – and you have to swallow."
She looked at him; they'd met for the first time less than three hours ago and he was ordering her around, making assumptions about what she wanted and what she was prepared to do. She ought to chastise him, but had no inclination to so do. In comparison to Chris, all the men in her life had been milquetoasts and rather than being affronted by his effrontery, his attitude excited her; so much so she could feel her cunt becoming wetter and wetter.
"Open your legs."
She opened her legs and was roughly pulled forward until her cunt was poised on the edge of the seat cushion. He inserted a finger and started to finger-fuck her, pushing his finger upwards into her cunt, as if seeking her g-spot. Whatever he was doing, it was exciting and she started to respond, her hips moving backwards and forwards in time with his thrusts. He inserted another finger and it was enough to start her orgasm. She started to buck harder, driving her clit against the palm of his hand. She was coming; another five or six seconds and she would be there – and then his hand was gone.
"Why did you stop?"
"I wanted to. Get up."
She wanted to be angry with him, she was within seconds of cumming and he'd denied her. She started to say something and was rewarded with a narrowing of his eyes and an order,
She rose and they exchanged positions so it was now he who occupied the same precarious position at the edge of the chair, while she knelt on the floor, facing him. Once comfortable, he got hold of his cock, pointed it at her and demanded,
She didn't mind complying. From the first moment she'd caught sight of his cock, she'd had an overwhelming desire to take it in her mouth and to suck and lick every inch. If she had a minor qualm; it was whether he was too large for her to deep throat. She'd learnt the technique from Robert, but both he and Simon had been smaller than Chris and she wasn't sure whether she could take all of it.
She got hold of the base and wanked it twice, but it was slippery with pre-cum and her hand slipped. Concerned, she stopped and looked into his eyes, only to find them closed.
"Did I tell you to stop?"
He hadn't and she returned to her task, first licking the rim and smiling when his cock flinched; it might be bigger and he might be less courteous than her other lovers, but they all liked the same things. She edged her mouth over the head; it was big, but nowhere near as big as her mouth, and seeking to swallow it all, she relaxed her throat and inched her lips down the shaft. It was difficult, but she succeeded; her nose finally nestling against his pubic bone.
Blowing him wasn't easy. His cock was thick and although she had engaged in oral sex with both Robert and Simon, she wasn't an expert at blow jobs. Having never voluntarily sucked a man until he reached his climax, she had never experienced the feeling of teasing the last vestiges of cum from a lover's cock and watching, cock in mouth, as his stomach muscles finally stopped convulsing and his thigh muscles ceased quivering.
At first she found it difficult to accommodate his cock, but once she had, it didn't take long before she was able to settle into a rhythm which, from his response, clearly suited him. Within seconds his breath was becoming laboured and his thighs muscles alternatively tightening and relaxing as he sought to push himself to his climax. When he came, her response was something she had not intended when she had started. She had expected to follow her usual pattern and bring him to his climax by wanking him, but as her excitement grew, she realised, for the first time in her life, she wanted a man to cum in her mouth; for her mouth to become the receptacle for her lover's cum. It was his order, the first words he'd spoken since she'd wrapped her lips around his cock, which settled the matter.
"Swallow it. Swallow it, bitch."
As he spoke he grabbed her head, forcing his cock down her throat and almost choking her. Whenever she had gone down on her female lover, Rachel had done a similar thing; holding her head and face-fucking her until she came. She had found it exciting and hadn't minded her female friend using and abusing her mouth to reach her climax, but this was different; he was big, he was using her mouth like a cunt and he was choking her.
She ought to fight him, to stop servicing him, but she was aroused by the thought of his cum flooding her mouth and rather than reject him, she only fought against his hands until she had pulled her head back far enough to be able to accommodate his thrusts. Just as she accomplished the task, he came; his cum pulsing out of his cock as if driven by hydraulic pressure from deep in his balls, hitting the back of her throat and flooding her mouth.
Between thrusts, she swallowed, fighting, with some difficulty, to avoid gagging as he drove his cock into her mouth and watching as his thigh and stomach muscles juddered repeatedly as she coaxed the last of his cum from his balls. Immediately following his last spasm, he pulled his cock out of her mouth, almost glared at her and demanded,
"Show me, woman. Show me my cum."
She opened her mouth, put out her tongue and showed him the remaining vestiges of his seed. There wasn't much left, but it was evidence enough she had obeyed his orders.
"Okay. Swallow it."
She swallowed and opened her mouth, laughing as she provided evidence she'd followed his instructions.
He kissed her once, almost as a reward, and sat back in the chair, his wilting cock listing to the left and glistening with their cum.
"Clean it up."
Another instruction; again no 'please' or 'thank you', but she followed his directions without demurring. It had taken her mere minutes to realise she liked being told what to do and although it had never happened to her before, she was finding being controlled by a man was exciting and even more so, since it was this man.
En route to his cock to comply with his order, she leant forward so that her hair brushed his belly and when he flinched, she smiled; he was still sensitive; he obviously hadn't totally recovered from his climax. She licked his cock slowly and sensually; it was nowhere near the size of the monster which had violated her mouth, but she found the slimy, soft texture was erotic. She laved it from the tip to his balls and back again and as she did she stroked his balls; she'd never felt so aroused by or so close to a man and she wanted to prolong the moment.
When she could find no further excuse to continue, she kissed the end and then flicked it with her tongue, smiling as she watched it flop limply against his thigh. He sat there, enjoying her ministrations, but saying nothing as he considered his options. When he recovered, he was going to fuck her, but where and how were the questions.
Sat at his feet, she was also thinking about being fucked, but her thoughts were directed to her fantasies. As she'd got older and especially since she'd had no lover, she'd started to harbour fantasies, some of which were derived from what she thought of as the dark side, and involved sexual partners and practices, some of which she knew were forbidden by law and others which were only barely legal; but in all cases, just fantasies.
Her favourite was one in which she was being gang raped by men in uniform. She had visualised policemen and soldiers as her rapists, but preferred firemen and in particular, firemen clad only in shiny, yellow neoprene, bib-style overalls; their buff, tanned and well-muscled bodies based upon images on a calendar she'd bought in support of the local fire-department. In her fantasy she was spread-eagled, her wrists tied to the fire pole and draped doggy-fashion over a hose reel, her cunt and bum totally exposed and available; able to look forward, but unable to see who was violating her, knowing she would be taken, in turn, by the entire department and the non-participants would be standing in front of her, watching her being violated and slowly wanking their giant-sized cocks as they waited their turn.
She knew her rape fantasy was just that, fantastic, but there was a fantasy which she thought might be within the realms of possibility. It too involved being bound, but in this fantasy there was only one man; a man who was her master; a man who would control her, who would use and abuse her body. She'd not had the courage or the inclination to broach the subject with her other lovers, primarily because she couldn't see any of them as her master, playing with and abusing her tied and bound body, but there was a chance with this man.
They had been strangers, but right from the start he had taken control of their lovemaking; showing none of the reserve shown by her previous lovers. It appeared, from his actions, control was something he craved and if he asked, she realised she was prepared to cede it. The thought was exciting and her already moist cunt, started to flood; her nipples growing to the extent they were almost as large as when she had been nursing her children. She'd never felt like this before and she knew, if there was man who could to fulfil her fantasies, it had to be him.
"Chris, have you ever tried bondage?"
She understood it was a more direct question than she had intended, but however hard she'd tried, she'd been unable to see any other way of introducing the subject.
He looked at her; was she asking him a question or suggesting they try it?
"No. I've seen it in porno videos and photographs, but I've never tried it."
He might not have tried it, but he'd seen videos and had thought about it often. It excited him; he had always wanted control of his lovemaking and if he was being honest, he would have to admit his divorce may have been partly attributable to his ex-wife's resistance to his desire to exercise control during their love-making. He'd tried it with his other lovers, but with only limited success; none of them had been prepared to cede the degree of control he desired.
"Are you opposed to trying it?"
That depends, he thought; it depends on who was the controller and who was the controllee. As long as it was he who was in charge, he certainly wasn't opposed.
"I might. Would you like to try?"
She would, but in the same way she had not been sufficiently confident to propose they fuck, she didn't want to appear too enthusiastic about bondage
It was all the agreement he needed and without asking, he picked her up from the floor and led her, naked from the waist down, hand in hand up the stairs. He'd made his decision about the 'where'; he was going to take her on her bed, but the 'how' had not been resolved.
On the landing he paused and asked,
"Which is your room?"
"It's the one on the left."
The room was a surprise; almost a throwback to the seventies, its walls covered in flower-patterned, Laura Ashley wallpaper, a brass bedstead, a décor comprising greens, oranges and purples, candles on many of the flat surfaces and a sou'wester sporting Winnie-the-Pooh on the bed. He wanted to laugh, but didn't; his parent's bedroom had been decorated by the same interior decorator and it had been only when they moved to Houston they'd redecorated in a more contemporary pattern – one which had been only ten years out of date. He pointed to the bed.
She got into bed and waited for him to join her. The room was cooler than the living room and she had to resist the temptation to pull the bedclothes up around her neck. He looked at her and smiled a smile which, while it couldn't be classified as a leer, engendered in her a feeling of both trepidation and expectation. Trepidation, because it seemed to hold some form of threat and expectation, because she knew he was going to fuck her and she couldn't wait to feel his beautiful cock sliding into her cunt.